


Quiet the Voices

by actually18pigeons



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Cutting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Klaus Hargreeves Deserves Better, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Klaus Hargreeves Needs Help, Protective Diego Hargreeves, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2019-11-26 12:16:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18180485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actually18pigeons/pseuds/actually18pigeons
Summary: How Klaus started getting the voices to quiet. Will cover when Klaus started self-harming as a teen and continued into adulthood. Probably will deal with the siblings' reactions to finding out and trying / not trying to help. Trigger Warning - Self Harm - a bit graphic be careful.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, enjoy this. MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING dealing with self harm and cutting and the guilt that comes with that. I write from personal experience so like just don't be stupid and read this if it triggers you. Stay safe y'all.

When blood flowed the ghosts quieted, as though out of respect. So Klaus let the blood flow and never looked back.

He first realized it one of the first time he was was in the Colosseum. In his scramble to the corner, he scraped his arm. Just a small scrape. But the stinging pain made everything come into focus. Suddenly the world was a little quieter, the coldness replaced by the warmth of pain.

He tried to avoid thinking about it. He really did. But once you have a taste of peace it’s hard to ignore it. 

He held out for 14 days. He ignored the impulse for two weeks. But on a day of “training,” five hours locked in the mausoleum pushed him over the edge.

It’s not hard to find a knife in the Hargreeves house. Diego’s room alone probably had almost one hundred. But Diego would notice. So Klaus took an Exacto knife from Vanya’s craft drawer. The weight of the knife in his pocket helped lessen the weight in his mind.. at least for a while. 

But an hour later the weight wasn’t enough. Klaus slipped into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Pulling off the blade cover, he reveled in the shine and sharpness of the blade. Stabilizing himself on the sink, Klaus dragged the blade over his forearm. 

Everything paused. The only present sensation was the blood beading on his arm. The rush of adrenaline quieting the world. He was alone. Well, of course he was alone, but for once nobody else was in the room with him. No ghosts, no moaning, no screaming his name. 

So he did it again, and again, and again, focusing on the feeling of his skin splitting. Watching the blood drip down his arm, feeling his heart hammering in his chest. This blood showed he was alive. It separated him from the dead that follow him. Their blood was a dark reddish brown, but his, his was a deep, rich red. 

For a few minutes he just stood, watching the blood drip down his arm and onto the white porcelain of the sink. He stood until the blood started to clot. Then he stood longer watching the blood dry and start to itch. 

A knocking at the door startled Klaus out of his thoughts. 

“Klaus?” Allison called, “are you taking a bath? Cause I called the shower when I got home from training and you got home hours ago!”

“Yeah, sorry Alli, I’m just washing my hands I’ll be out in a second.” Hopefully, she didn’t notice the shaking of his voice, matching the shaking of his hands. 

He washed the blood off his arm, scrubbing at the dried bits, then scrubbed away the blood drying in the sink. Drying off his arm, the towel came away blood, the shallower cuts clotted, while others still were bleeding sluggishly. 

He tightly wrapped the towel around his arm, holding it to his chest, and capped the knife slipping it back into his pocket. Opening the door he slipped past Allison, facing away from her, hunching over to cover the red stained towel. 

“Hey, Klaus!” Klaus froze, not turning around. “Are you doing okay? You had a pretty long day training.” He still didn’t turn around.

“Yeah, thanks Allison, I’m just tired I think I’ll take a nap till dinner.” He walked away as normally as possible, despite wanting to just run back to his room and sleep, so he never had to wake up and deal with the voices that were sure to return.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation - it’s a short chapter but I didn’t want to leave it alone for too long.

Within weeks cutting became a daily occurrence. Maybe just one cut, maybe twenty. It was worth it for the silence, because he could finally focus. 

It’s not like anyone noticed. Not like anyone cared. He could probably go to dinner with a tank top on, but that didn’t mean he did. Thankfully his uniform covered cuts and scars, but within months he swapped most of his more ‘revealing’ clothes for ones that covered his arms and thighs. Even if nobody asked, it make him more comfortable. Plus there was the added discomfort of the fabric pulling on scabs, which was good. Nobody noticed anything, not the drugs, not the change in behavior, not the nightmares, and certainly not the long sleeves in the summer. This went on until he left the academy. 

Even after leaving the academy, the weight of the knife in his pocket brought comfort. Sharpening the blade when it got too dull, washing the dried blood off at the end of particularly hard days. It became a constant in his life. It was the only free way to get the voices to lessen. When he ran out of money for drugs or got kicked out of another liquor store, it’d always be there as a backup. 

Of course Ben disapproved. Why wouldn’t he? But he was dead and couldn’t actually stop Klaus from any of his destructive habits, he could just watch and whisper comforting words when the guilt and pain became too much.

Nobody commented if they noticed. So nothing ever happened… until he had to return to the academy. 

Klaus had given up on covering the cuts and scars long ago. They were a part of him and despite the shame and occasional crippling guilt when he was sober, it became a constant. Almost as constant as the knife in his pocket. 

He’d given up on the long black sleeves in favor of crop tops and leather pants. So when he returned for his father’s funeral his wardrobe wasn’t the most accommodating. So on the first day he snuck into Vanya’s old room and stole her old probably expired concealer, and it did the trick. Nobody questioned his clothing choices and life went on as usual until Vietnam. 

In Vietnam Dave noticed. But he didn’t care. There were countless things he understood he didn’t know about Klaus. But his nebulous past made him a whole new world to explore and understand. So Dave traced his scars with light touches, and didn’t ask too many questions, because war is hell and everyone has their own way of coping so who was he to judge. 

For ten months it got better. Dave became his constant. Always by his side with kind words and gentle touches. Never prying, just there for him.

Then Klaus lost him, and his world crashed down for the hundredth time. 

When Klaus returned, he wanted to be clean so he could see Dave. But for him being clean didn’t mean not cutting. 

So promptly after flushing the last of his pills down the toilet, he went to Diego’s room and took the smallest, sharpest, hopefully difficult to notice, knife, and locked himself in his room.

Diego walked out of his room to head down to the foyer where the rest of the family was gathered, “hey Luther, one of my knives is missing, and I know I put it away last night. Have you seen anything?”

“It was probably Klaus, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was out trying to pawn it for drug money.”

With that response Diego headed back upstairs, pausing outside of Klaus’ closed door. “Klaus are you in there? One of my knives is missing and I swear if you took it and pawned it to get high off your ass I will make you pay!”

Klaus didn’t respond. Diego tried the knob. “Klaus I will kick this door down and if I find you unconscious on the floor…”, with this Diego kicked the door in, the old locking breaking easily.

And Klaus wasn’t unconscious on the floor. He was sitting on his bed, Diego’s knife in his hand, staring down at the blood dripping from his fingers to the ground. 

“Klaus! What the actual hell?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter (as well as the rest of the story I suppose) takes place clearly after Klaus has returned from Vietnam but before the scene where Diego finds out about Dave cause I'm kinda making my own canon.

Klaus looked up, and rather than seeing the tears Diego often saw on his brother’s face, he was shocked to see a dead blackness in his eyes. Klaus didn’t move from his spot on his bed, he barely seemed to register his brother in the room. 

 

Diego unfroze, running towards his brother, grabbing a random shirt off the floor and shoving it onto Klaus’ arm. “Hey, hey you’re okay,” Diego whispered, “what the hell were you thinking…” 

 

“You wouldn’t understand,” Klaus whispered, staring down at the knife in his hand.

 

“What wouldn’t I understand?”

 

Klaus’ voice broke, “I lost him. I lost Dave.”

 

“Who the hell is Dave?”

 

“He was my boyfriend. In Vietnam.”

 

Diego stared at him, not understanding. “You fought in the shit?”

 

“Yeah, ten months of my life I’ll never get back.” 

 

Diego pulled back, standing up suddenly. He watched the pastel pink shirt quickly turn a deep red. His worry turned to anger. 

 

“What the hell were you thinking! I know I don’t understand what kind of shit you went through over there, but I sure as hell know it’s not worth trying to kill yourself.”

 

“He is worth dying for! You’re right you don’t understand what I’m going through and clearly, you don’t care that much if you haven’t noticed until now, and for your information, if I had wanted to kill myself I would have by now, it’s not like I don’t have the means.”

 

Diego froze. “You mean you’ve t-tried?”

 

“Of course I’ve tried, I’ve tried 6 times,” Klaus pauses, gesturing to several particularly thick scars on his left wrist, “but every time I tried, Ben would show up and go on some stupid sentimental ‘it sucks to be dead’ speech, and I couldn’t do it. Twice I almost did succeed, but some idiot in the drug den called the police and I woke up in a hospital room dreading the reality that I’d woken up another day.” 

 

Diego just stared at him, mouth agape. “How could this have happened, how have none of us noticed?” 

 

Klaus let out a light laugh, “well it’s not as though you’ve cared about my wellbeing lately, this might have been subtle but I’m pretty sure me coming home high off my ass was pretty noticeable.” 

 

“I’m so sorry, let me fix this.” Diego gently slid the knife out of Klaus’ hand, 

 

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself, I swear. I just… without Dave it’s harder to find a reason to stay alive. He was my everything, I wouldn’t have lasted all those months without him fighting by my side and now he’s dead and decades away and I can’t even stay sober long enough to see him cause… I’m just a fucking mess and not worth your time.” 

 

Diego sat on the bed next to Klaus, sliding the bloody knife into his belt. “Hey, Klaus. Look at me. Stay alive for me. We already lost one brother, are you really gonna put the girls through losing another one. Are you gonna do that to me?” Diego swiped at the tears appearing in his eyes. “I understand I haven’t always been there for you. But I don’t want to lose you so I swear I’m gonna be here for you.”

 

Klaus looked over to the corner of the room where Ben was leaning against the wall. A small smile tugged at Klaus’ lips as Ben gave him a thumbs up. Finally, another sibling was reiterating what Ben had been telling Klaus all these years. 

 

Diego shook himself out of his feelings, focusing on the still bloody cuts on Klaus’ arm. “Hey okay, let’s get this under control, can’t have you dying on me today.” Diego pulled the shirt off of his arm. “Shit man. This isn’t good.”

 

“I’ve had worse. Don’t worry about it.”

 

“No! I’m damn well gonna worry about this. I’m gonna worry about you cause I care about you.” Diego lightly wrapped his hand around Klaus’ wrist, wary of the numerous open wounds, letting his other hand stabilize Klaus’ shoulder as he began to sway. 

Klaus wanted to fight back, tell Diego to leave him the hell alone, continue to bask in his self-pity and just continue living his life until he couldn’t anymore. But he couldn’t bring himself to push Diego away. Whoever said self-harming was a cry for attention clearly had never felt the pressure in their chest and willed it all away as soon as someone found out. They’ve never felt the deep shame that made you want to curl up and go back to the first time you picked up a blade so you could set it back down and not head down that dark road that would change your mind and body forever. 

 

So he let Diego stay. 

 

Diego sighed, “okay so some of these are pretty deep, like stitches deep, and clearly you haven’t put any effort into stitches before,” he gestured to some of the thicker, wider scars marring his arms. “So here’s the deal I’m gonna stitch up these cuts so you don’t bleed out, then you’re gonna go to bed and we’ll revisit it in the morning once you don’t look like you’re about to pass out.” And with that, Diego pushed the shirt back onto Klaus’ arm, gave him a pointed look and walked out. 

 

Klaus paused for a minute, then tossed the shirt to the end of his bed, further inspecting the cuts. He scratched at the ones that had already scabbed, relishing in the feeling of the fresh blood pooling on his arm. Diego would be pissed when you came back but who cared. He needed the feeling, needed the pain, and now that Diego knew it would be harder to come by under his hawklike watch. He looked at one particular cut, near the crook of his elbow, where scars and needle marks were found in equal abundance. It, and a few surrounding cuts, hadn’t stopped bleeding through the whole fiasco, probably contributing to the fuzziness of his vision and the shakiness of his hands. 

 

Diego returned with a first aid kit, a Gatorade and a packet of crackers. He cracked open the Gatorade and set it on the table next to Klaus’ bed, an instruction to drink it hanging unspoken in the air. Upon seeing the new blood of a few fresh cuts, Diego merely sighed. He hadn’t signed up for this. He didn’t choose to know about or be in charge of this new struggle. But he was proud of how he had handled it, and after a night of google searches he’d be able to help Klaus even more. But for now, he took out the suture kit and threaded the needle, looking up to Klaus for confirmation before he began. 

 

Klaus just leaned back, resting his head against the wall behind him, closing his eyes in an effort to zero in on the pain, on the stinging of the cuts and the sharper pain of the needle repeatedly entering his skin. But Diego was gentle. Far more gentle that Klaus had ever been when putting needles into himself. And it felt different. It felt like someone actually cared. So the stitches continued, finishing too soon for Klaus’ liking, and too slowly for Diego’s. Diego wiped the cuts with more antiseptic and put bandaids on them. Hoping against reason that Klaus would just keep the stupid bandaids on his arm and let himself heal and maybe not do anything stupid until the morning. 

 

And Klaus rested against the wall, thinking of his next fix, how he’d nab his next blade, and knowing maybe it’d have to wait until the morning if the dizziness and tiredness didn’t let up. 

 

Diego got up, collecting his supplies and pausing to ruffle Klaus’ hair. “Drink your damn Gatorade. I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

And Klaus rubbed his newly covered arms, and slid under his covers, begrudgingly sipping the Gatorade before he fell asleep. 

 

He wasn’t looking forward to waking up. But waking up came with an abundance of possibilities. It might be in Vietnam. Might be in the tent he woke up in. Might be lying next to Dave’s body on the battlefield. Maybe in a hospital. Or maybe back in his bed with knocking on his door, with a whole recovery plan and far too much knowledge on self-harm. Hopefully not the last one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know where I'm going from here - any suggestions, or just comments, welcome.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always appreciated and let me know if you have ideas of where you want this story to go. I'll definitely add more chapters.


End file.
